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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT41

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The dining commons buzzed with morning light, but it all faded to the background as you leaned in closer to your friends and said, barely above a whisper, “Come to my dorm tonight. I’ll show you the book.”

The others exchanged glances. Chai Latte’s lips parted like she wanted to say something immediately, but held back. Earl Grey narrowed his eyes slightly, ever calculating, while Hazelnut just nodded once, serious in a way he rarely was.

“No one else can know,” you added, voice firmer now. “Not yet. Not until we understand everything. But… I think you need to see it for yourselves.”

Earl Grey folded his hands, nodding once. “Tonight, then.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hazelnut said, though his voice lacked its usual humor. He was with you completely, but the gravity of it all had settled deep.

Chai gave your hand a light squeeze beneath the table. “We’ll be there. I just… hope this book doesn’t bite.”

You smiled faintly. “It might, honestly.”

That made her grin, even if it was a little forced.

You closed the notebook and tucked it away again, your heart thudding behind your ribs. Tonight, they would see the book that offered riddles for rituals and answers you barely understood. Though seemingly your golden goose.

Night fell faster than you expected. It always did when anticipation pulled at your spine like a thread, unraveling time by the minute. One moment the sun was warming your shoulders as you walked back from lecture, the next, the moon had taken its throne above the Spire.

Its light bled through the windowpanes, pale and unrelenting. Cold and watchful, almost having you wonder what laid on the dark side of the moon.

You sat on your bed, notebook beside you, the book locked away in your desk drawer like a secret heart still beating.

Outside, the wind pressed softly against the glass, not strong enough to rattle, but steady enough to remind you it was time.

The door creaked once then again.

And then your friends trickled in.

Chai Latte first, wrapped in a blanket she insisted was purely for aesthetic reasons or so she claimed. Earl Grey, posture impeccable even now, with a tightness to his mouth that said he’d been thinking about this all day. Hazelnut Biscotti, arms crossed behind his head, but eyes sharper than usual.

The room felt smaller with all of you inside it but warmer, too. Like the gravity of what you were about to show them was softened just slightly by their presence. Still, the moonlight that spilled across the floor felt almost too bright. Like it was watching.

You stood, hand reaching toward the drawer.

The moment your fingers touched the handle, it felt like the air changed thinner, somehow. Anticipation rippled through you, sharp and cold.

“They deserve to know,” you whispered aloud, not quite to yourself, not quite to the others.

And you opened it.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the drawer steady, certain and you pulled it open with purpose.

But when your hand closed around the book and you lifted it onto the bed between you and your friends…

Nothing.

The pages remained still. Silent. No flicker of ink. No shimmer of recognition. Not a whisper of magic.

Just parchment.

Blank and cold.

Your heart stuttered.

You tried again, gently this time fingers grazing the spine, letting a bit of your magic bleed into it, soft and coaxing. Like the night before. Like the night it listened.

But the book didn’t stir.

No breath of wind. No flickering candle. No ripple in the moonlight on the windowsill.

It just sat there.

Lifeless.

Your stomach dropped.

“…What’s wrong?” Chai asked softly, her voice uncharacteristically still.

You didn’t answer at first. Your eyes remained fixed on the open page as you flipped to the next. And the next. And the next.

All blank.

No writing. No guidance. No poetry spun in cryptic metaphors.

Just… silence.

You swallowed hard.

“It… it responded last night,” you said finally, your voice quiet with disbelief. “I didn’t even need a spell. It just wrote on its own. It told me everything. But now”

Now, it was like it didn’t know you.

Or worse like it was choosing not to.

Beside you, Earl Grey knelt to examine the pages, his fingers careful but unapologetic as he turned one, then another. His brows furrowed. “It’s dormant?”

“Is that normal?” Hazelnut asked, leaning in with narrowed eyes.

Earl shook his head slowly. “Not for a book like this. If it’s bound to someone it shouldn’t just stop.”

“Maybe it only reacts when you’re alone,” Chai offered gently, though her voice held concern underneath. “Like last time.”

Your hand trembled slightly as you shut the book again. It felt heavier now, like it was made of something ancient and disapproving. Like it was waiting for you to become that person again. The one who demanded answers. The one who bled magic out of want. The one who allowed their immaturity to take over.

The one Shadow Milk would never forgive.

You set it aside for now.

But your mind was racing.

Why wouldn’t it open?

And worse what would it take to make it?

You stared down at the closed book in your lap, your breath catching against the weight of silence pressing into the room. It had chosen you. You knew it had. The way it had written itself into your hands, offered you secrets no one else could reach. That had to mean something. It had to be more than a fluke.

So why was it quiet now?

Why wouldn’t it speak?

You shut your eyes.

And you tried to remember.

The desperation. The way your chest burned the night it first answered you. The hunger that clawed at your ribs. The ache that came from wanting more. From wanting to prove him wrong.

Your breathing picked up, shallow, strained.

You remembered his voice steady, sharp, unyielding.

“You’re a fool for telling me.”

You remembered the flare of shame and rage that sparked in your chest.

“I will stop you.”

You remembered the pain.

And slowly, like dipping your fingers into ink, you let the bitterness in.

Let it burn. Let it grow. Let it rise until your ribs strained beneath it.

You clenched your jaw, gritted your teeth, and whispered over the spine of the book:

“I’m not a fool. I’m not afraid. I’m not wrong.”

Still… nothing.

So you gripped it tighter, voice trembling, cracking under the weight of what you were becoming.

“Let me in,” you begged. “Let me see. Show me everything. I’ll do whatever it takes do you hear me? Whatever it takes! Just don’t turn away now don’t go silent on me now- please please”

Your magic began to trickle out again, unbound and aching. It wrapped around the book like vines soft at first, then thorned.

The spine shuddered.

And then

The book opened.

The pages flipped rapidly, faster than before, faster than what should’ve been possible. Blanks became runes. Ink bled from nothing. There it was.

A single phrase. Scrawled hastily. Uneven.

Like it wasn’t coming from the book this time

But through it.

"Become what he fears. Then you will never be left behind. You’ll never be forgotten, isn't that what you seek?"

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn’t tell if that voice in your head was yours or something else's.

But you understood one thing

The book wanted this version of you. The one he would never recognize. The one who would burn the garden to reach the truth.

And it would reward you So long as you kept walking further down that path. Even if you couldn’t return. Even if, one day… you didn’t recognize yourself either.

And still you turned the page.

They sat in a tight circle now with no laughter, no teasing, no sweet distractions of dining commons or lazy river days. Just the book, humming faintly in your lap beneath the moonlight bleeding through the window. The soft creak of wood. The unspoken tension of friends who weren’t quite sure whether to lean forward or pull away.

You looked at them Chai Latte, unusually quiet with her knees drawn to her chest; Hazelnut Biscotti, arms crossed but eyes troubled; Earl Grey, gaze fixed and analytical, fingers tapping the notebook you had filled in a single sleepless frenzy.

You swallowed.

Your voice came soft, but steady.

“…What do you want to ask?”

Three heads lifted slightly. Eyes met yours.

“I’ll ask it,” you said. “I’ll ask the book for you. If you have doubts, if there’s something you want to know anything just tell me. I’ll ask.”

No one spoke at first.

The book pulsed faintly beneath your palms.

“…Even if it’s something I might not want to hear,” you added.

Earl Grey’s fingers stilled. He looked at you carefully.

“Ask,” he said, voice low, “what the cost truly is. Not a metaphor. Not poetry. Ask what you would lose. Not just what you would gain.”

Hazelnut’s jaw tightened. “Ask if it can be undone.”

Chai swallowed and scooted closer to you, her fingers ghosting the back of your hand for just a second. “Ask if… we’ll still be us. After. If the ritual will change who we are.”

You nodded, slowly.

And with a breath that felt like a tether, you looked back to the book.

“Okay,” you whispered, fingertips pressing gently to the edge of the page. “I’ll ask.”

The moonlight slicked over your fingers like glass.

You pressed your hand to the open book, its blank pages still as a frozen lake. But the magic pulsed faintly resting, not gone. You could feel it beneath your fingertips, slow and deep, like something dreaming.

And so you whispered, voice low, as you had the first time only now with your friends watching.

“What would I lose?” You steadied your breath. “What would we lose? Can it be undone? Will we… still be us?”

At first, nothing.

But then

The ink bled upward from the center seam like smoke, curling into looping letters.

"The moon does not take, it merely cradles. The stars do not forget, they simply wait."

Your breath caught. Chai Latte leaned in slightly, brows furrowed.

"To lie beneath the veil of sleep is not to vanish, but to rest, until the night bears your name again."

The book pulsed, faintly.

Hazelnut frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

"The self endures where the soul remembers. What awakens after the moon’s kiss may yet wear your face. But the dream you held will be changed."

Earl Grey’s hand reached out sharply, closing over yours.

You flinched because your magic had begun to stir again, seeping from your palms uninvited, curling like mist along the pages. You hadn’t meant to channel. But it was happening anyway.

The hunger in you clawed at your ribs. It wanted more.

You tried again. “Can it be undone?”

The book paused.

Then

"What lies beyond the second sleep cannot be unspilled. The moon casts no shadow in reverse."

“…It’s death,” Chai said suddenly, voice soft. “It’s just saying it beautifully.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because the book had begun to close itself. Not rudely. Not violently.

But like a lullaby winding to its end.

You sat back stiff, trembling and your friends were still watching you.

Not like you were a monster.

But like they weren’t quite sure who they were looking at.

“…I’m still me,” you murmured. “It’s just this is how it works. It’s not dangerous if we prepare right. If we understand.”

But no one spoke.

And for the first time since you'd found that book, the silence felt lonely.

You stared.

The others said nothing. For a moment, even the wind held its breath.

You swallowed and whispered, almost too softly, “Will I wake quickly?”

The book paused.

Then wrote

“The moon measures not in hours,

But in longing.

Sleep lasts as long as you are missed.

Or remembered.

Or needed.

Though who can really say.”

You felt your pulse skip.

Hazelnut shifted beside you, tension in his shoulders. Earl’s brows furrowed deeply, and Chai reached out again, this time gripping your sleeve, grounding you.

You didn’t look at them.

Not yet.

Because something inside you cracked at those words. And still

Still you wanted to ask more.

Still you wanted to believe that this was worth it.

Because even if you didn’t quite understand it yet… the book had answered you.

And that felt like something sacred.

Even if it was dangerous.

Even if the person you became while asking was someone your friends weren’t sure they recognized.

“…You should stop using it,” Hazelnut said at last, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, throat tight. “What?”

Chai squeezed your sleeve gently, her eyes wide and filled with something softer. Worry. “We just mean… maybe this book isn’t good for you. It’s answering you, sure, but… look at yourself.”

“I am,” you said too quickly, too sharply.

Earl folded his hands atop his knee, measured as ever. “Are you? You speak to it and your eyes start glowing.” His gaze didn’t flinch. “That’s not nothing.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding.

“That’s not normal,” Chai added quietly. “That’s not how magic usually… works.”

“It’s not how your magic works,” Hazelnut cut in, firm now. “You’re not like Shadow Milk Cookie. You don’t will magic like it’s breath. You have to channel it, shape it like the rest of us.”

“And yet,” Earl murmured, “you’re casting magic like a high scholar. Without incantation. Without runes. Without chalk or channel or focus.”

You didn’t speak.

Because you couldn’t deny it.

Because something inside you was changing and maybe it had been for a while.

Hazelnut ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. “I mean, stars, you glow when you talk to it. Your eyes glow.”

Chai leaned closer, voice soft and aching. “And every time, you look a little less like yourself.”

That made you flinch.

And when you finally looked up at them, all three of your friends had that look in their eyes. Awe. Fear. Love.

You had always longed for truth.

But now, the truth was looking back at them through your gaze. And they weren’t sure if it still belonged to you.

“Just…” Hazelnut reached out, but stopped short of touching your hand. “We’re not saying stop asking questions. Just be careful. Please.”

Chai’s grip on your sleeve trembled. “Don’t get so close to something sacred that it forgets you’re only mortal.”

You swallowed hard, pulse roaring in your ears.

Because they were right.

And still you didn’t want to let go.

Your breath hung in the air like frost.

The lanterns above flickered, casting soft halos over the table, but none of your friends moved. Not right away. Not even Chai, who usually filled any silence with warmth or laughter or a poorly timed pun.

You had said it.

“Once I do the ritual… I won’t be mortal anymore.”

And the weight of it sat thick between you.

Hazelnut Biscotti shifted first just a twitch of his hand, then a slow drag of his palm across the table’s edge. His brows drew together like storm clouds gathering, but when he spoke, his voice was low. Careful. Like he was holding something fragile between his teeth.

“You mean if.”

You didn’t look away. “No. I mean when.”

Earl Grey’s jaw tightened. “You’re serious.”

“I have everything. Every step. Every symbol. All the logistics.” You tried to keep your tone steady, like you weren’t already trembling somewhere deep under your skin. “I’ve already mapped the spot near the river bend, the one where the stars come down so low you feel like they’re watching.”

Chai Latte Cookie’s grip on your sleeve had never loosened, but now she clutched tighter. She wasn’t smiling. “We said we’d do this with you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “We agreed. I remember.”

You nodded. “Then you remember the part where each of us has to do it alone.”

Silence.

You forged ahead. “We’ll each have our own circle. Our own vow. No one can cast for us. No one can anchor us. It has to be personal. That’s the only way the magic holds.”

Hazelnut leaned forward, voice still quiet but now trembling with something heavier. “And what exactly are you surrendering?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you hadn’t figured that part out. Not fully. Not deeply. Not enough.

Earl Grey exhaled slowly. “Do you even understand what it means to ‘release all that ties you to mortal dough’? That’s not a metaphor. That’s your breath. Your heartbeat. Your soul.”

“I’m not dying,” you argued, too quickly. “I’m changing. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” he countered.

“I’m not doing this to be reckless,” you said, hands flat against the table now, voice rising not in anger, but desperation. “I’m doing it to prove I can. That I’m not just someone the Sage pities. That I’m not just the struggling student or the mistake or the one who always needs help. I’m doing this to show that I can grasp something no one else can.”

Chai’s voice cracked. “Even if it means losing everything that made you you?”

You looked at her then and you hated that your gaze didn’t waver.

Because you had already chosen.

“I’ll still be me,” you said quietly. “Just… more.”

Hazelnut slammed a hand on the table, startling even Earl. “You don’t get to say that like it’s simple! Like it’s just some late-night spell and you’ll wake up fine! Your eyes glow when you talk to that book. Your voice changes. You changed. Every time you speak to it, something shifts.”

“And you think the Sage doesn’t notice?” Earl added, eyes narrowing. “Because he does. He always does.”

“I know,” you said. “And I don’t care.”

Chai’s hand slid down to yours. Her fingers were cold, but steady. “What if you don’t wake?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then said, quietly:

“Then… I guess I wasn’t needed.”

And there it was.

The awful, honest thing.

The thing none of you wanted to say aloud, but all of you had felt in different ways. That the book had whispered, “Sleep lasts as long as you are missed. Or remembered. Or needed.”

You stood slowly.

“There are five days left until the full moon,” you said. “I’m not asking you to follow me.”

You looked at each of them, your voice gentler now more vulnerable, even if you hated it.

“But I do need you to understand. You already agreed. We chose this. You just didn’t realize I was willing to go through with it.”

Chai didn’t let go of your hand.

Hazelnut looked like he wanted to scream.

Earl said nothing.

And the moon was almost here.

Earl Grey Cookie’s voice sliced through the tension, quiet but unyielding, the calm at the eye of the storm.

“We already said we’d do this.”

Hazelnut’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.”

But Earl Grey simply lifted his chin slightly, gaze steady and unwavering. “We knew what we agreed to, even if we didn’t fully grasp what it meant at the time. This isn’t new information…just clearer.”

Chai Latte shook her head, lips trembling. “Earl this isn’t some experiment. It’s their life. Their soul. It’s…everything.”

He didn’t flinch at her words. If anything, they sharpened his resolve. “And yet,” Earl said softly, carefully, “we knew. We listened. We nodded along. We didn’t ask enough questions then and didn’t push back when it mattered.” He glanced at you, something quieter and deeper shining in his eyes. “So we don’t get to back down now just because reality scares us.”

Hazelnut ran a hand roughly over his face, exasperation tangled with worry. “We don’t get to back down? Earl, this isn’t some scholarly wager! This is our friend talking about losing their mortality.”

Earl’s composure didn’t waver. He took a breath, steadying himself before continuing. “I’m aware,” he murmured. “But listen to them. Listen to the resolve in their voice. This isn't a whim.”

Hazelnut tried to get another word in but only ended up looking like a sputtering fish.

Earl Grey turned himself fully toward you, his voice soft but firm as iron. “I don’t know if I fully understand your reasons, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t frighten me. But your choice is yours alone. And that means you don’t have to face it alone, not when we promised to stand beside you.”

You felt your throat tighten, your voice shaking slightly. “Earl…”

“Even,” he added, almost gently, “if standing beside you means watching you change.”

Chai stared at him, disbelief flooding her eyes. “You’d still go through with it? Even now, knowing what it means?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Because I gave my word.”

Hazelnut’s voice softened into something close to pleading. “Earl, please. This is more than we bargained for.”

Earl nodded slowly, expression softening with understanding. “It is. But we don’t abandon each other when things get difficult. Or frightening. Or complicated.” His gaze shifted to you again, patient and unwavering. “That’s exactly when we need each other most.”

Something inside you unclenched at those words, the weight on your chest easing slightly. Earl had always been like this steady, measured, calm when the rest of you were spiraling. And now, even facing the unknown, he was choosing your side, your choice. Your heart ached with gratitude and fear in equal measure.

Hazelnut drew in a shaky breath, frustration and worry written clearly in every tense line of his shoulders. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to,” Earl answered softly. “You just have to trust us.”

Hazelnut hesitated, still uncertain, still wary. But after a long silence, he finally nodded, just once, grudgingly acknowledging Earl’s words. Not agreeing, exactly but not fighting anymore, either.

Chai Latte’s fingers tightened around your own, her voice thick with barely-contained tears. “If we do this… there’s no going back. We’ll all be changed.”

Earl Grey’s answer came quietly and matter of factly.

“Then we’ll change together.”

You breathed out slowly, the quiet solidarity in Earl’s voice making something warm spark in your chest, even amid the shadows.

Because yes, you’d chosen this path alone but you didn’t have to walk it that way.

You let out a slow breath, the weight of Earl’s words still settling in your chest like a blanket that had finally found your shape. Around you, the tension lingered but it was softer now, edged more with worry than resistance.

Hazelnut still looked like he wanted to crawl into a wall. Chai’s grip on your hand hadn’t loosened. Earl remained perfectly still, watching you with that unreadable calm that somehow always managed to make you feel both deeply seen and slightly exposed.

So, naturally, you did what you always did when emotions got too loud.

You cracked a joke.

“Well,” you said, leaning back just slightly in your chair and forcing a little smirk, “I must be super powerful, huh?”

Chai blinked at you.

Hazelnut stared.

“Like think about it,” you continued, gesturing vaguely to the notes still scattered across the table. “No incantations. Just me, some ink, a glowing book, and a casual stroll toward immortality. Kind of a flex, right?”

Hazelnut groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oh stars, don’t say it like that.”

You grinned, emboldened now. “I mean, how many Cookies can say they’ve terrified their entire friend group with raw, unfiltered book magic?”

“Eldritch vibes,” Earl corrected dryly.

“I like to think of it as mystique,” you offered, clasping your hands together with mock reverence. “Maybe the Sage will promote me to ‘Honorary Being of Terrifying Potential.’”

“You already glow when you talk to a book,” Hazelnut mumbled into his palms. “Now you’re naming titles?”

Chai, despite herself, huffed out a small laugh, her eyes still shiny. “You’re ridiculous.”

You nudged her shoulder gently with yours. “Ridiculously powerful.”

“That’s not reassuring,” she whispered but she was smiling now, just barely.

Earl, who had returned to his tea with the air of someone resigned to witnessing absurdity, finally added, “If we’re assigning titles, I vote for ‘Scholar Most Likely to Accidentally Ascend.’”

You beamed. “See? He gets it.”

Hazelnut groaned again. “You’re all going to be insufferable if we survive this.”

You shot him a wink. “When we survive this. Immortals have to stick together, right?”

Chai’s breath caught, and her smile wavered for just a moment but she nodded, her thumb brushing against your hand.

“Right,” she murmured.

The laughter lingered but only for a moment.

“That magic you used,” Earl said slowly, “when you spoke to the book, when your eyes started glowing.”

You blinked, the edges of your smile faltering. “Yeah?”

“It didn’t feel like spellwork.”

Chai tilted her head, her brows pinching. “Not like the kind we usually feel, anyway.”

Hazelnut nodded, still frowning. “It felt… raw. Like it wasn’t filtered through runes or intention or even control. Just pure force. Like something ancient pulling itself through you.”

His words made your stomach dip. Not in fear exactly but in recognition.

They had felt it too.

“I’ve only felt something like that once,” Hazelnut added, glancing at Earl. “When a visiting high scholar tried to open a time-folded gate. And even they had six wards and an incantation buffer. You didn’t have any of that. You just… spoke. And it answered.”

You swallowed.

“I’m not saying that to diminish anything,” he went on quickly, hands raised. “But you’re not exactly known for being a prodigy.”

“I know,” you murmured.

Earl nodded once, slow and deliberate. “But that kind of power is something born without structure, without scaffolding it’s dangerous. Rare. Maybe it’s something channeling through you…but what?...”

And then, more quietly “Maybe that’s what the Sage of Truth saw in you.”

Silence.

The words hung there, low and heavy, too close to the question that had already been gnawing at your ribs for days.

What if that’s the only reason he’s still here?

Your mouth opened but you didn’t get the chance to speak.

Because Chai beat you to it.

“Nope,” she said firmly, cutting in before the silence could grow teeth. She sat up straighter, eyes locked on Earl. “That’s not what you meant. Don’t let them think it is.”

Earl blinked. “I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t,” she said, softer now, turning back to you. Her voice gentled into something warm, grounding.

“But don’t go putting ideas in your head like that. You think the Sage of Truth sticks around because someone’s powerful? Please. If that were the case, half the scholars in this wing would’ve already turned into constellations just to get his attention.”

Hazelnut let out a soft, reluctant chuckle. “She’s not wrong.”

Chai reached for your hand again, quieter this time. “He’s stayed because of you. Not your magic. Not your potential. You.”

You glanced down at the table, heart thudding a little louder in your chest.

“But that magic,” Hazelnut said again, awe now softening into something like wonder, “what even was that? It was like it had a mind of it’s own.”

You hesitated.

Then, quietly “I don’t know.”

For the first time, you weren’t just the struggling student. Well that was always up for debate but even so, you were becoming an anomaly of your own right.

Something that even the Sage of Truth had noticed.

The conversation wound down slowly, the way embers fade in a hearth warm, flickering, but exhausted. No more laughter. Hazelnut leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright. I think that’s enough ancient prophecy and moral panic for one night.”

Chai nodded, fingers still laced loosely with yours. “Sleep first. Existential dread later.”

Earl stood, dusting off his sleeves. “Agreed. We’ll be clearer in the morning. Or at least better fed.”

You hummed in agreement, and though your mind still spun rituals, immortality, unreadable truths behind unreadable eyes your limbs were heavy. And when you finally curled beneath your blankets, your friends somewhere nearby, the weight of their presence like anchors… sleep found you faster than expected.

Knock knock.

The sound dragged you from the fog of dreams, muffled and distant at first then louder.

Knock knock.

You barely stirred until you heard soft movement near the door, the whisper of fabric, a subtle click as someone turned the knob. You registered Earl’s voice first calm, clipped.

“…Can I help you?”

A pause.

Then a voice you knew far too well, cold and sharp even when soft.

“I might ask you the same. What, precisely, are you doing in their room?”

That woke you up.

Your eyes flew open. The covers tangled around your legs as you sat up too fast, heart stumbling in your chest. You could already feel the magic in the air low and expectant, like it was holding its breath.

You shoved sleep off like a second skin and stumbled toward the door, still blinking the blur from your eyes.

“Earl?” your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. “Who is it-?”

You didn’t get to finish the sentence.

Because the moment you turned the corner and your gaze met the one standing at the threshold, any remaining sleep vanished like mist in sunlight.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood in the doorway.

Robes crisp. Eyes glowing just faintly in the morning light one gold, one cerulean.

And those glowing eyes immediately landed on you.

Earl stepped aside silently, posture cool but alert.

You, however, stood frozen in place, one sleeve hanging off your shoulder, hair a mess, pulse thundering in your ears.

Shadow Milk didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

“…Good morning,” he said finally, voice as even and unreadable as ever. “I trust I’m not interrupting.”

Your mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

“…You're at my door,” you croaked.

His head tilted, ever so slightly. “Yes. And I have questions.”

You were suddenly, vividly aware of how chaotic your bedhead looked.

And how warm your cheeks were getting.

Your soul momentarily left your body.

Chai’s groggy voice floated from the next room. “Who’s at the oh. Oh.”

Hazelnut’s groan followed. “Why is he here before breakfast.”

You could only stare, heart doing something deeply unacademic inside your chest.

Because of course he had questions.

And of course he had arrived at the exact worst possible time.

Because he was the Sage of Truth.

And he always arrived exactly when he wasn’t expected.

You panicked.

Not internally out loud.

“No! No no no, it’s not what it looks like-!”

Shadow Milk Cookie raised one perfectly unimpressed brow.

You immediately made it worse.

“I mean it looks bad, sure, because Earl opened the door and I’m like sleep-disaster, and Chai’s voice came from somewhere, and Hazelnut’s probably lying on the floor like a collapsed nobleman, but it’s fine. It’s just just a sleepover! A perfectly innocent, platonic, emotionally necessary sleepover-”

Earl Grey clamped a hand over your mouth with the kind of poise that only came from years of knowing your talent for talking your way directly into suspicion.

“Enough,” he said, calm as ever.

You blinked up at him, muffled but relieved.

Earl turned to Shadow Milk, posture composed. “They’re telling the truth. We stayed here last night. All of us. There were… things to talk through. Nothing more.”

Shadow Milk’s expression didn’t shift.

The quiet between them sharpened into something heavy wordless tension laced with unspoken questions.

His eyes dropped to the way Earl’s hand still rested lightly at your shoulder, then flicked to the tangle of blankets behind you. The papers scattered across your desk. The too-full mugs. The salt ring someone had half-heartedly tried to sweep aside.

And finally, back to Earl.

“I see,” he said coolly. “And that required sharing a sleeping space.”

Earl didn’t blink. “No one shared the bed.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

You tried to speak behind his hand. Some desperate combination of this isn’t helping and why are you so pretty when you’re mad but all that came out was a squeak.

Hazelnut, now sitting up against the wall, muttered, “This is why we lock the door.”

Chai Latte peeked around the corner, hair a disaster, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “Why does it sound like someone caught you in a tragic love triangle out here?”

You made a choked noise against Earl’s palm.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“I wasn’t aware,” he said slowly, “that your evenings were so well attended.”

You finally pulled away from Earl’s grip, throwing your hands up helplessly. “It’s not like that! You’re usually busy at night, so I didn’t think-” you froze, horrified. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant you’re not usually here.”

Everyone stared at you.

“…Can someone please cast Time Reversal?” you asked weakly.

Earl, maddeningly composed “Regrettably, no.”

Chai gave a small, sympathetic wheeze of laughter.

Hazelnut rubbed his face. “I’ll take the hit if it ends the awkwardness.”

But Shadow Milk didn’t laugh.

His voice came quiet, too still to be safe.

“Are you unwell?” he asked not with concern. With something sharper. Controlled jealousy perhaps?

You froze, arms dropping.

“No,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I’m just… bad at mornings?”

His gaze swept across the room once more Hazelnut’s tousled hair, Chai’s robe slipping at the shoulder, the soft hush of sleep still clinging to the air and then back to you.

“You should have told me you weren’t alone,” he said finally.

You faltered. “I didn’t think I needed to?”

His expression didn’t shift.

But his voice did.

“Apparently,” he murmured, “I misjudged how much I still don’t know.”

That hit harder than it should have, something sharp you clearly weren’t prepared to hold.

Chai looked like she might say something to fill the silence, but you found your voice first quiet now, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t meant to be.

“…Do you want to come in?”

Shadow Milk blinked.

It wasn’t the words, it was the gentleness behind them.

“I mean,” you added quickly, “you’re already here. You might as well stay for tea. Chai brought her pot…”

He didn’t answer immediately.

But something in his eyes softened. Just barely.

And when he finally stepped past the threshold, brushing by Earl without a word, you knew, he hadn’t come for tea, hadn’t come for questions, hadn’t come for magic, he had come for you.

Of course your heart was thrilled.

The moment he stepped inside and lowered himself onto the edge of the low sofa near your desk still brimming with tension, still glaring daggers at Earl you sat beside him and quietly reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away.

Though they didn’t relax either. So much for calming your nerves.

He just stared straight ahead, jaw tight, as if looking anywhere else might let something slip. As if Earl’s very existence required a scholar’s level of restraint.

You squeezed his hand gently. The contact was soft and grounding, you were reaching toward him like you always did when words fell short.

Because whatever this was, it had stopped being about your sleepover thirty seconds ago.

It didn’t make sense anymore.

The way he hadn’t spoken since entering. The way his glare lingered on Earl even now, long after the conversation had moved on.

You sat forward a little, thumb brushing lightly along his knuckles, and said, “Okay. We all need to talk.”

Hazelnut groaned. “Is this about the time Chai tried to enchant a pastry?”

“No,” you muttered.

Chai, offended “It worked.”

“Not the point,” you said. Then, with a flash of teasing mischief trying to break the tension, lighten the mood you added, “Honestly, if you’re going to be jealous of someone, it should be Chai. She’s the one I sleep next to the most.”

Silence.

Utter silence.

You turned slowly.

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t laugh.

Not even a breath of amusement.

He just turned his head toward you slow, deliberate and stared.

You blinked.

“It was a joke,” you said, suddenly flustered. “You’re supposed to laugh.”

Still no laughter.

“I mean, Chai and I don’t even cuddle most nights, it’s just proximity warmth and mutual trauma comfort-” you were spiraling.

Chai raised a brow, very helpfully. “I would cuddle you more often if you didn’t sleep like a starfish.”

Hazelnut coughed into his fist, looking away. Earl just sipped his tea with the expression of a man who had given up on dignity in this lifetime.

Shadow Milk Cookie, meanwhile, stared down at your hand in his like it was a relic he couldn’t decide whether to protect or destroy.

You shrank slightly. “…You’re really not going to laugh, huh?”

He didn’t blink. “Should I be amused that you sleep beside others?”

Your mouth opened. Then shut.

Then opened again.

“…Yes?” you squeaked.

The look he gave you said Incorrect.

You slouched further into the couch. “Stars help me.”

Chai patted your leg in mock pity. “You tried.”

Earl, without looking up “You failed.”

But Shadow Milk still hadn’t let go.

And even though his expression was unreadable, his thumb finally moved once, a soft shift of pressure against your palm. As if to say, We will talk. But not yet.

You didn’t breathe until the silence softened.

And even then, your pulse wouldn’t quite slow.

The silence was thick enough to slice.

You were still holding his hand, and he still hadn’t laughed, and Earl was still watching everything like a scholar dissecting an ancient curse in real time.

So, naturally, you did what you always did when emotional tension threatened to strangle you:

You made it worse.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, sitting up straighter, forcing some brightness into your voice. “New plan.”

Hazelnut raised an eyebrow from the floor. “Oh no.”

You ignored him.

“We all just sleep in the same bed from now on. That way no one gets left out, no one gets jealous, no one glowers at anyone else like they’re about to rewrite their life’s thesis in blood.”

Chai snorted. “Is this a friendship bed or a coping mechanism?”

“Yes,” you said.

Earl blinked slowly. “You do not have a bed large enough to support four scholars and a looming personal crisis.”

“I’ll enchant it,” you said immediately. “We’ll call it ‘Project Emotional Equilibrium.’”

Hazelnut groaned. “You’re not seriously…”

“I am seriously,” you cut in, nodding solemnly. “Chai and I already have practice. Earl sleeps like a ghost. Hazelnut claims a corner and refuses to move. We can make this work.”

Chai beamed. “I call the middle.”

“You would,” you muttered, fond.

But Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even blink.

You turned to him with a hopeful smile, nudging his arm gently. “C’mon. It’s genius, right? Full-circle academic bonding. Purely theoretical… mostly.”

He stared at you.

You cleared your throat. “Okay, fine. Ninety-percent theoretical.”

A beat passed.

Then, very softly, he said, “You want me to sleep beside all of them?”

You blinked.

Chai raised her hand like she was volunteering to be smitten by divine light.

Hazelnut slowly tilted his head toward you. “You’re on your own, starstuff.”

“I was joking!” you cried. “You’re supposed to laugh again! This is me being funny, not hosting a symposium on cuddle logistics!”

But Shadow Milk Cookie leaned slightly closer, gaze still unreadable.

“…Do you want me there?” he asked, very quietly.

The room went still.

Even Chai, who had been halfway through adjusting her robe, froze mid-motion.

You opened your mouth and immediately forgot how to speak.

“I mean yes? But also not because of that? I mean not not because of that-”

Earl sipped his tea. “Fascinating.”

Chai let out a soft little ooh.

Hazelnut whispered, “This is painful.”

But Shadow Milk didn’t smile.

And you, cheeks burning, shoulders drawn up to your ears, finally blurted.

“…I want you wherever you want to be.”

His gaze flickered.

Then, slowly finally a faint curl of amusement touched the corner of his mouth.

“Then I suppose,” he murmured, “I’ll need to see if your bed can be enchanted.”

And just like that

You nearly passed out from relief.

“Thank the stars,” you mumbled, flopping dramatically against his shoulder. “I was starting to think I’d never survive my own jokes again.”

He didn’t move.

But his hand squeezed yours firm, sure, and just a little bit possessive.

And for the first time that morning, the silence felt almost like peace.

You sighed into his shoulder, heart still galloping like a wild thing under your ribs, then tilted your head up just enough to meet his eyes.

“…You do know that was a joke, right?”

His expression was unreadable again, that slight smirk still lingering at the corners of his mouth but not giving anything away.

You squinted at him. “Like, I don’t actually want to sleep next to Hazelnut. He sometimes has nightmares and screams in his sleep. Woke up once thinking he was being chased by an angry floating thesis scroll.”

“That happened one time,” Hazelnut grumbled from the floor.

“And it bit you,” you called down without looking.

Hazelnut muttered something about ‘traumatic stationary.’

You turned back to the Sage, pointing a finger at his chest. “Anyway. The whole enchanted-bed idea? Not real. Not necessary. There’s absolutely no reason for you to be talking about logistics like they’re going to happen.”

A beat.

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes narrowed. “You do know that, right?”

The silence stretched.

Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curled and for the first time all morning, he laughed.

A real, rich sound that filled the space like magic always did with him sudden and weightless. At least to you.

He tilted his head toward you with that familiar glint in his eyes the one that always came before he said something unbearably smug.

“Oh, I knew,” he said smoothly, voice lilting like velvet and cleverness. “I simply wanted to see how far you'd take it.”

You stared at him, aghast. “You what”

“Do go on,” he said dramatically, gesturing with a sweep of his hand like he was inviting you to perform. “Tell me again how I’d be competing with a scholar whose night terrors involve aggressive parchment.”

Hazelnut muttered, “I hate this guy.”

“He’s growing on me,” Chai whispered.

Earl sipped his tea without comment, but even he looked mildly entertained.

You groaned and slumped back against the cushions. “Stars above, you're the worst.”

“Ah, but you invited me in,” he said airily. “Which I believe, if we are cataloguing all the little events of this fine morning, makes this your fault.”

He was glowing a little now not from magic, but from mood. That theatrical charm you knew well, flourishing now that there were no upper scholars or silent corridors to keep him in check..

You rolled your eyes. “Well then, Your Radiance of Smugness, if you’re done humiliating me in my own dorm”

He cut in smoothly. “Oh, not yet.”

You groaned louder. “I was going to offer you tea.”

“I accept.”

“…You didn’t even wait”

“But,” he added, folding one leg over the other and finally letting his gaze drift to the quiet remnants of your evening papers, scattered notes, faint symbols still glowing in the floor’s seams…“before I enjoy this undoubtedly substandard tea… may I ask what you were all doing here?”

You furrowed your brows knowing you’d given a half-hearted excuse he must have not bought.

Your heart skipped a beat, from alarm.

Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the couch.

“Just…” you started, too fast. “Just talking. Studying. A little too late, I guess. And then it was late, so everyone just stayed.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Chai, catching on with terrifying grace, nodded quickly. “We were reviewing… uh, magical theory.”

“Citations,” Earl added blandly. “And disciplinary records.”

“…I brought snacks,” Hazelnut offered unhelpfully.

Shadow Milk tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing with amusement and something far too perceptive.

“I see,” he said.

You smiled far too wide. “See? Perfectly normal.”

His eyes lingered on you. Just a little too long.

And though he said nothing more, you could feel it:

That he didn’t believe you.

Not entirely.

But for now he let it go.

“Then by all means,” he said smoothly. “Pour the tea.”

You exhaled too quickly. And he noticed that too.

You stood to prepare tea, heart drumming an uneven rhythm in your chest.

Casually, or as casually as you could manage under Shadow Milk’s sharp and watchful gaze, your eyes swept across the room papers scattered, blankets tossed around in sleepy disarray and then toward the half-hidden shelf near your desk.

The book.

Where had you left it?

You knew, of course third shelf, tucked behind two thick tomes on arcane geometry, but anxiety compelled you to confirm. To see, just to be sure.

You started drifting toward the shelf, moving too carefully, your breathing hitching quietly

A sudden, discreet pinch at your side made you jump.

“Act normal,” Chai Latte hissed softly, eyes forward and smiling innocently at Shadow Milk. “You look like you’re planning a heist.”

You startled into an awkward, stilted laugh. “I’m just grabbing something for tea. Totally normal tea things.”

Shadow Milk’s brow raised subtly, suspicion flickering faintly in those mismatched eyes, but he didn’t comment. Just watched you quietly, unreadably, as you made your way to the shelf.

Your hand trembled a bit as you brushed aside the larger tomes, eyes darting around the narrow gap you’d left until your fingers brushed something cool, worn, familiar. You exhaled quietly.

Safe. Still there.

For now.

You carefully slid the other books back into place, heart still hammering, and turned back to the group almost colliding into Chai, who’d stepped close again, watching you with warm, worried eyes.

“Breathe,” she whispered.

You nodded. “Breathing.”

Shadow Milk still watched you carefully, head slightly tilted. “Did you find what you needed?”

You forced a casual shrug. “Yeah. Just checking something.”

His gaze lingered thoughtfully, quietly skeptical, but after a long moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen slightly. A tiny shift of posture. Acceptance or at least, tolerance.

“Very well,” he murmured, almost gently, his voice losing that sharp edge. “If you’re quite done being suspiciously normal-”

“I’m always suspiciously normal,” you joked weakly.

“Noted,” Earl Grey said dryly.

Shadow Milk, though, simply studied you a moment longer, a quieter warmth finally breaking through his careful composure. He didn’t push further.

Because right now, whatever his doubts, his suspicions he finally had you back. Awake, joking, flustered, surrounded by friends who cared deeply for you. He wasn’t about to shatter that with accusations.

He relaxed, just slightly, expression easing into quiet contentment, his eyes softening as they traced your movements. Watching you simply happy you were here again, safe and present, if a little nervous.

Meanwhile, your pulse slowly steadied, your secret carefully locked away once more behind worn covers and careful lies.

At least for now.

The morning drifted on, deceptively gentle.

Tea was poured. Chai talked about nothing in particular, something about a misfired charm in the kitchens. Hazelnut complained about crumbs in places where crumbs should not exist. Earl listened, interjected when necessary, steady as ever.

And all the while, Shadow Milk watched.

Intently.

His questions came wrapped in silk.

“Oh?” he said lightly when Chai mentioned studying late. “All of you?” A pause. “And here?”

You answered without hesitation. Every time.

“Yes.” “Together.” “Nothing unusual.”

Each reply was calm. Casual. Practiced not because you were lying poorly, but because you had learned how to survive scholars far sharper than you by never giving them a crack to pry open.

Shadow Milk tilted his head, smile faint. “How diligent. How… devoted.”

Jealousy threaded his words, subtle but unmistakable.

You didn’t bite. Didn’t explain more than necessary.

And eventually slowly he stopped asking.

Not because he believed you fully.

But because there was no weakness left to press.

He leaned back, fingers steepled, studying the room one last time.

“Well,” he said pleasantly, rising to his feet, “as enlightening as this has been…”

Your heart skipped. “You’re leaving?”

A flicker of regret, genuine and sharp crossed his face before it smoothed away.

“I’m afraid so.” He sighed, dramatic in that effortless way only he managed. “I had hoped to join you for breakfast. A foolish indulgence, it seems.” He glanced aside, expression tightening. “I’ve remembered… unfinished business.”

Disappointment tugged at you before you could stop it. “Oh. I see.”

He turned toward Earl then, voice dropping quiet, precise.

“You,” he said coolly, “are fortunate.”

Earl met his gaze without flinching. “I know.”

A beat passed. Something unspoken crackled between them mutual awareness, mutual warning.

Shadow Milk inclined his head, just barely. Not respect. Acknowledgment.

Then he turned back to you.

And surprised everyone.

He took your hand gently, fingers cool but steady, and bowed.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, voice soft enough that it was meant only for you. “For intruding upon your morning. And for leaving so abruptly.”

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

It was intentional.

A gesture just formal enough to pass as courtesy just intimate enough to sting.

When he straightened, his eyes gleamed with something unmistakable as they flicked, briefly, to Earl.

I am chosen.I am allowed this.And you know it.

Your cheeks burned, pulse racing.

Hazelnut stared. Chai made a noise somewhere between awe and scandal. Earl’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

Shadow Milk smiled, satisfied.

“We’ll speak again soon,” he said to you lightly, releasing your hand at last. “Do try not to cause trouble in my absence.”

You swallowed. “I’ll… do my best.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied.

With that, he turned and swept from the room, robes whispering behind him, presence lingering long after the door closed.

Only then did Chai exhale loudly.

“…Wow.”

Hazelnut blinked. “Did he just-”

Earl set his teacup down carefully.

“Yes,” he said evenly. “He did.”

And you sat there, hand still warm where his lips had touched, heart pounding with the unsettling certainty that whatever game was unfolding now,

The Sage of Truth had made sure everyone knew exactly where he stood.

The door hadn’t even finished echoing shut before Hazelnut finally broke.

He dragged both hands down his face and let out a long, miserable breath. “…That,” he said flatly, “was way too close.”

You blinked, still a little dazed. “Close to what?”

“To disaster,” he snapped, then softened immediately when he saw your expression. “Sorry. I just stars above, this is a bad idea. All of it.”

Earl looked up from his tea. “Hazelnut-”

“No,” Hazelnut cut in, turning fully toward him. “I’m serious. Earl, you need to reconsider. We all do.”

Chai shifted closer to you, her earlier humor gone, worry settling heavy in her eyes. “He’s right. I want to help you I really do. You know that.” Her fingers brushed your sleeve, grounding, familiar. “But that was too close. He almost noticed something. I could feel it.”

Your chest tightened.

Hazelnut nodded sharply. “He was circling. Not like a scholar like a predator. If you’d slipped even a little…”

Earl’s gaze darkened, thoughtful. “I’m aware.”

“And you’re still willing to go through with it?” Hazelnut pressed. “Even after that?”

Silence.

Chai swallowed, then asked quietly, “How many days do we even have left?”

Your stomach dropped.

“…Four,” you admitted.

Her breath hitched. “Four days,” she echoed, disbelief threaded with fear. “That’s not time, that's a countdown.”

Hazelnut paced a step, agitation clear. “There has to be another way. There’s always another way. That book can’t have every answer. No artifact does.”

“It speaks like it does,” you said softly.

“That doesn’t mean it tells the truth,” Chai said gently but firmly. “Or the whole truth.”

She stepped in front of you now, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Please. Just pause. Even for a day. Let us look. Let us search the archives, talk to professors, anything. Immortality isn’t something you just… do because a book says you can.”

Hazelnut nodded, voice rough. “You’re not a prodigy. And I don’t say that to hurt you I say it because this kind of power doesn’t come free. Ever. If it’s letting you touch it so easily, that should scare you.”

Earl finally spoke, quiet but strained. “They already know that.”

Chai turned to him, frustration breaking through. “Then why are you letting this continue?”

Earl’s fingers curled slowly around his teacup. “Because it isn’t my choice to make.”

Hazelnut’s voice cracked. “But it’s our responsibility to stop them from making a mistake!”

You looked at them all three of them faces tight with fear, love, desperation.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Chai whispered. “Any version of you.”

Her hand slid into yours, warm and shaking. “Please. If there’s even a chance this goes wrong…”

The room felt smaller.

The clock louder.

Four days.

And for the first time since you’d opened the book, doubt real doubt pressed its fingers against your ribs, whispering softly

What if they’re right?

You swallowed, fingers tightening together in your lap.

“…What if this is the only way?”

The words fell softer than you meant them to, but they landed hard all the same.

All three of them looked at you.

“What if there isn’t another answer,” you continued, voice steadier now, even as your chest ached. “What if that book is telling the truth my truth. Then what do we do? Just… pretend I never saw it?”

Hazelnut opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“And you’re all so worried about Shadow Milk,” you added, frowning faintly. “But why? I mean what can he even do about this? It’s not like he owns me.”

The air shifted.

Earl set his teacup down with a quiet, deliberate click.

“That,” he said calmly, “is enough.”

Before anyone could respond, he stood and raised one hand, fingers tracing a careful sigil in the air. His expression tightened with concentration.

“This is something my grandmother taught me,” he said quietly. “She said children should know how to protect their words before they learn how to sharpen them.”

The sigil flared soft, muted blue and then sank into the walls, the floor, the very air around you. The room felt… heavier. Closed. Like the world had leaned away.

“A listening ward,” Earl said, exhaling slowly. “Meaning no outsiders.”

Chai blinked. “You can do that now?”

Earl nodded once. “I hoped I wouldn’t need to. But… I’m certain it’ll hold.”

Hazelnut let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “Okay. Good. Because I’ve been sitting on this.”

You turned to him. “On what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. “Shadow Milk Cookie is dangerous. Not in a vague, scary-legend way. In a very real, very practical sense.”

You stiffened. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”

Hazelnut winced. “I’m not saying he would. I’m saying… I don’t know what he’d do if he found out.”

“Found out what?” you pressed.

“That you’re trying to slip the leash of mortality without him knowing,” Chai said softly.

You frowned. “He doesn’t own me.”

“No,” Earl agreed. “But he watches you.”

“And guides you,” Chai added. “And stops you.”

You bristled. “He’s just protective.”

Chai’s eyes sharpened, hurt flickering beneath her concern. “Protective doesn’t usually involve freezing you in place.”

You froze.

Hazelnut nodded grimly. “Twice. He stopped you twice. With magic. Not words. Not persuasion.”

“He wasn’t hurting me,” you shot back.

“He didn’t ask,” Chai countered. “And he didn’t explain. He decided.”

Earl folded his hands. “That matters.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling over. “So what? You think he’d punish you? For me?”

Hazelnut hesitated.

That hesitation said everything.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted. “He’s powerful and jealous. That’s not a combination I like betting my life on.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. “He wouldn’t hurt my friends.”

Chai reached for your hand. “We’re not saying he will. We’re saying we don’t know that he won’t.”

Silence pressed in, thick even with the ward in place.

“And that scares us,” Hazelnut added quietly. “Because if this goes wrong… it won’t just be you paying the price.”

You pulled your hand back slightly, hugging yourself. “So what, I’m supposed to stop living because it makes everyone nervous?”

“No,” Chai said immediately. “But you’re not supposed to disappear either.”

Earl’s voice was calm, but heavy. “This isn’t about fear. It’s about stakes.”

You looked at them your friends, your anchors and felt the awful tug between hope and guilt stretch tighter.

Four days.

And suddenly, the danger wasn’t just the ritual.

It was everyone you loved standing too close to the fallout.

You swallowed, the silence pressing in harder now that everything had been said.

“…It’s four days,” you murmured, the realization landing with a quiet weight. “A night already passed.”

No one corrected you.

Because they all felt it too that invisible clock ticking somewhere just out of sight.

You lifted your head, voice firming as you tried again. “Four days is still time. If this really is the only way, then waiting doesn’t change that. It just… delays it.”

Hazelnut shook his head immediately. “Or it gives us a chance to stop something we can’t undo.”

You turned to Earl, searching his face. “You said it yourself you’d stand by me.”

“I will,” he said gently. “That doesn’t mean I won’t ask you to slow down.”

He gestured toward the desk, toward where the book lay hidden beyond sight. “Artifacts like that respond to urgency. Desperation. If it hasn’t changed yet, it may, especially if you don’t push it.”

You frowned. “You think it’ll just… offer something else?”

“I think,” Earl said carefully, “that truth has a habit of revealing itself when it’s not being cornered.”

Chai hugged her arms around herself. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we revisit,” Earl replied. “Together. In four days. Not now. Not while emotions are this raw.”

You hesitated.

Earl softened his tone, just slightly. “Let the days pass. Watch the book. See if it shifts, if it reacts to anything. If it doesn’t… then we’ll know something important.”

Hazelnut exhaled sharply. “I love you,” he said, blunt and earnest, looking straight at you. “But this? This is crazy. Immortality isn’t a solution it’s a gamble.”

Chai nodded, eyes glossy but steady. “I want to believe there’s another way. I really do. And I hope, I hope we find it. Because I don’t want to lose you to something that won’t even tell you the whole cost.”

The knot in your chest tightened.

Earl cleared his throat, the tension easing just a fraction. “Also,” he added dryly, “we’re all starving. No one makes sound decisions on an empty stomach.”

You huffed weakly. “That’s your scholarly insight?”

“It’s my grandmother’s,” he replied. “Eat first. Think later.”

Chai managed a small smile. “I could murder a scone.”

Hazelnut stood, stretching. “If we’re going to face existential doom, I’d like to do it with eggs.”

“…You really think we’ll find a way?” you asked quietly.

Earl met your gaze, unwavering. “I do.”

It wasn’t certainty.

But it was hope.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Breakfast.”

The book remained silent.

Before you left, you lingered.

Just a moment longer than necessary.

You crossed back to your desk under the pretense of grabbing your coat, fingers moving with practiced care as you slid the heavier tomes aside and tucked the book deeper into its hiding place. You adjusted the angle. Pressed it flush. Made sure nothing about the shelf looked disturbed..

You exhaled.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Hazelnut asked, voice low.

You paused, hand still on the spine of an entirely innocent-looking textbook. “What?”

He nodded toward the shelf. “Leaving it here. I don’t like the idea of it being unattended.”

You frowned. “It’s better if no one sees it.”

“Or,” he countered gently, “it’s better if you have it. We don’t know what it does when you’re not around. Or who else might feel it.”

Chai tilted her head, thinking. “He’s not wrong. Things like that don’t always stay put.”

Your stomach tightened.

Slowly, reluctantly, you slid the book free again. It felt heavier than before, not physically, but present. A quiet thrum under your skin, like it knew you were arguing about it.

You tucked it carefully into your bag, warded pocket zipped and sealed.

“…Alright,” you said. “But we’re not opening it.”

Hazelnut nodded. “Deal.”

With that, you finally left the room, the tension easing just a little as the familiar corridors of the academy welcomed you back. Sunlight spilled through high windows. Students passed by in clusters, murmuring about lectures, duels, deadlines.

Normal things.

You fell into step beside your friends, as naturally as breathing.

Chai bumped your shoulder lightly. “Okay, so. Today’s explorations.”

Hazelnut groaned. “Please let them involve food first.”

Earl smiled faintly. “Always.”

You found yourself smiling too, wondering briefly, softly what the day might bring. What answers might be hiding in plain sight. What paths you hadn’t yet considered.

As you reached the dining hall doors, Chai snapped her fingers. “The library.”

Earl nodded. “Even a contradiction would be useful.”

Hazelnut smirked. “And if nothing else, we’ll confirm the book isn’t the only thing that likes pretending it knows everything.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag, feeling the book’s quiet weight settle against your side.

“Library it is,” you said.

And as you stepped inside for breakfast laughing, bickering, alive in the comfort of routine you couldn’t help but think:

Four days was still time.

And maybe, just maybe, today would be the day something shifted.

The day, unfortunately, started with betrayal.

Specifically, the dining hall.

You stopped short just inside the doors, eyes sweeping over the long tables once twice then narrowing with deep, personal offense.

“No,” you said quietly.

Chai leaned around you. “What?”

“There are no pineapples,” you said, devastated. “No waffles. No chocolate pudding. Not even the bad chocolate pudding.”

Hazelnut squinted at the spread. “They’ve got porridge.”

“You can’t just say that like it fixes anything.”

Earl scanned the options with a neutral hum. “It appears today’s menu is… sensible.”

You groaned and slumped dramatically against the nearest pillar. “Of course it is. Of course today is the day they decide we all need to reflect on our choices.”

Chai patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“It’s a punishment,” you muttered, dragging your feet toward the counter. “The universe saw my plans and said, ‘No joy for you.’”

Still grumbling, you shuffled along the line, pointedly glaring at bowls of fruit that were not pineapple, stacks of bread that were not waffles, and a suspiciously wholesome assortment of grains and eggs.

Hazelnut nudged you. “You know, you could still eat like an adult.”

“I can,” you said. “I simply resent being forced to.”

In the end much to your own surprise you did assemble a balanced plate. Eggs. Toast. A modest portion of fruit. Something green you pretended not to recognize.

You stared down at it, conflicted.

“…He’d approve of this,” you muttered.

Chai blinked. “Who?”

You waved your fork vaguely. “The Sage. This is absolutely one of his ‘fuel your mind before tempting fate’ breakfasts.”

Hazelnut snorted. “You hate that you’re right.”

“I do,” you said, poking the greens suspiciously. “I feel judged by my own plate.”

Earl took his seat across from you, faintly amused. “Think of it as strategic compliance.”

You sighed, then took a bite anyway.

It wasn’t terrible.

Which somehow made it worse.

As you ate still grumbling, you felt the day settling into motion around you. Conversations rising and falling.

A bad start, sure.

But you’d survived worse than a sensible breakfast.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, uninvited but present, you imagined Shadow Milk Cookie catching sight of your plate and arching a brow in approval.

You scowled at the thought.

Then took another bite anyway.

A/N Here is chapter 41 as promised! I promise the next chapter we finally get some sort of motion! Anyways I have to go study for my physics midterm! I hope to write ch 42 soon!

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